


A Nameless Something, And That's Okay

by AClever_Username



Series: Somewhere to go [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I Tried, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), just protect my soft android boi at all costs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AClever_Username/pseuds/AClever_Username
Summary: I just wanted to write something for that adorable post-ending scene where Connor and Hank hug it out.Lieutenant Anderson was here. Well, there, fidgeting nervously around the corner, oblivious to Connor’s nearby nervous fidgeting.





	A Nameless Something, And That's Okay

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I've never posted anything before and this isn't beta read or anything but I wanted to contribute so bad so... here. I hope this isn't utter shit.

A quick search through his database, and Connor concluded that he was… _(_ _nervous?)_

He was dithering in the snow, LED blinking a constant, circling yellow. After Markus’ speech Connor had left rather quickly, telling himself he wasn’t _fleeing_ (from the noise, from the stage, from Amanda) but rationalising his hurrying footsteps; he was no longer needed, he had somewhere to be.

But of course, he didn’t now. He was no longer bound by scheduled reports and red walls of code. Even if he _(_ _wanted?)_  to (and he didn’t), he could not return to Cyberlife as usual, for what was it now? Just a company without any assets. Cyberlife had not, however, crumbled to ruin overnight, the imposing tower still cutting the weak morning light as steadfastly as it always had, seemingly stoic and unchanged despite the revolution that had taken place within it’s walls. (Was it wrong that, in a way, Connor was… _(glad?)_ of its presence? For its comforting glowing blue hue, bright and familiar like the accents on his jacket).          

Swallowing, (a useless action, completely necessary) Connor’s hands fiddled with said jackets hem, tugging it straight and close and _right_ around his shoulders. Most of the androids at Jericho had abandoned anything tying them to Cyberlife, to their old lives as property, and as Connor ~~ran away~~  left he had toyed with discarding the triangular insignia emblazoned across his back. It was logical. He no longer required it. It made him recognisable amongst the hoard and Cyberlife might –

He’d stumbled in the snow, System Instability flashing before his eyes, an intense irrational discomfort shuddering through him, the same… _(_ _feeling?)_  he had experienced before when Hank had stolen his coin, when he waited too long to reach up and fix his tie and his hair, (the product of attempting to focus solely on his mission and ignoring the increasingly urgent notice in his peripherals telling him to fix it now, _now_ , _NOW_ ).

The jacket stayed.

Connor did not truly understand why, but the jacket stayed.

The snow had picked up, so he brushed it from his sleeves and continued with his routine, smoothing a hand down his tie, over his hair, before slipping it into his pocket and starting his cycle of coin tricks.

He’d walked without planning a route, and had ended up here, just around the corner from the Chicken Feed.

Where he’d been standing for some time, just…thinking, twitchy with the thought that Amanda might overtake him again, destroy him for his wandering deviant thoughts.

The logical, practical, _safe,_ part of Connor thrummed with the urge to just _leave, go_ – the mission was completed; he’d freed the androids, the revolution was over. But a larger part of Connor, the part that _(_ _enjoyed?)_  the feeling of Sumo’s fur between his fingers, had kept him from moving. He couldn’t leave.

Didn’t _want_ to leave, because something was missing.

 _Someone_ was missing, and exactly 3 hours, 47 minutes and 29 seconds after Connor first decided to stay (though he had not yet decided what staying entailed, hence the endless confusing processing) his sensors picked up footprints in the snow, and the thump of a familiar heartbeat.

Lieutenant Anderson was here. Well, _there,_ fidgeting nervously around the corner, oblivious to Connor’s nearby nervous fidgeting.

Connor was, not for the first time, (though perhaps this was the first time he consciously admitted it) _unsure._ He  wanted to see the Lieutenant, but he couldn’t be certain of his welcome; the calculated percentage stood at a healthy 97, but the missing 3% was uncomfortable, niggling _(_ _doubt?)_  Hank had almost been shot as a result of Connor’s ~~disobedience~~ _awakening,_ after all.

Perhaps that was why Connor had been toying with his coin for an extra 115 seconds longer than usual, his thoughts spinning in circles with his LED as he contemplated outcomes. It was a repetitive, familiar action, and entirely predictable.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson was not predictable. Neither was Connor’s behaviour around him. (Although, that may be untrue – it was not beyond his notice that there was a distinct pattern to his actions. Somewhere along the line an undeniable objective to _PROTECT HANK ANDERSON_ had situated itself permanently in Connor’s mind).

The Lieutenant was paradoxically both an infuriatingly volatile ball of wayward sorrow and anger, but also unexpectedly _kind_ , and weirdly the only point of consistency in Connor’s ~~existence~~ life. Hank meant cases and rough chuckles and an ancient rumbling car and a flashing Software Instability so unlike the _(_ _panic?)_  of too much, of disruption, of a failed mission and a disapproving frown.

He may be a Deviant now, but he was still floundering with what it meant to _feel,_ to understand why one type of Software Instability was so different to the other. He did not know, fully, why he was nervous, why he was _(_ _excited?)_ ; but he did understand that being around Hank was, for the most part… _good._

It made him happy.

So Connor pocketed the coin, adjusted his cuffs, (so many habits for a proposed perfectly analytical machine) and rounded the corner, his steps _almost_ hesitant.

The thump of his Thirium pump seemed to grow obnoxiously louder with every footprint he took in the snow.

The Lieutenant had yet to notice his approach, back turned as it was, but as Connor came ever closer he caught sight of the approaching android and moved to face him, dropping his arms from their rough hold on each elbow.

They stood a little way apart in the soft white light of morning, in uncharacteristic (but welcome) silence. Connor had no need to breathe, but he held it anyway.

Hank smiled at him, a rugged upwards twitching of his lips and softening of his eyes, and Connor found himself responding in kind, (the action small but genuine, his body sagging with _(relief?),_ before they both took the last shuffling steps together.

The hand on the back of his neck was rough with callouses, and Connor analysed it automatically as it pulled him inwards, pressing his face into the curve of Hank’s neck.

Connor was designed to integrate himself with the humans, so he was familiar with the concept of a hug. What he was not familiar with however, was how _warm_ he _(f_ _elt?)_  inside - there appeared to be no fault with his temperature regulator. Despite the physical impossibility, the warmth spread through his extremities as System Instability continued its mellow, pleasant rippling. He smiled wider (the Lieutenant would call it goofy and awkward), and hugged Hank Anderson back. Because Connor model RK800 #313 248 317 – 51 _wanted_ to, and nothing had ever  felt better to Connor than the weird human gesture of pressing one body solidly against another.

His fingers gripped the jackets’ material tightly; he counted each exhale that dusted his hair. He was ~~operating at maximum efficiency~~ content. The androids had just fought for freedom, for the right to choose their own path (and Connor was  glad he was free from Cyberlife and their crushing expectations), but he’s been without orders for a mere matter of hours and began to yearn for when Hank gave him gruff instructions he would mostly ignore, yearn for the way it used to be, when he wasn’t so _alone._ He shivered, though he was not cold, and exhaled unsteadily, burying his face further into Hank’s neck.

Freedom was terrifyingly directionless.

With Hank Anderson, Connor felt like he had somewhere to go.

They separated eventually, the Lieutenant sniffing and avoiding eye contact but keeping his hand clasped firmly on Connor’s shoulder, the weight… grounding (another quick database search). Connor dipped his head in an effort to look at Hank, and when they caught eyes again Hank’s face bloomed into another shy smile when he saw Connor hadn’t let his slip.

“Christ you and your puppy dog eyes,” he murmured lowly. (Connor caught every word).

Hank cleared his throat and continued with another one of his affectionate insults, “Alright let’s go home kid, I’m freezing my fucking balls off here you inconsiderate plastic asshole!”

Connor’s mouth worked, LED spiralling with confusion and _(_ _hope?)_

 “…Home?” he questioned huskily.

Hank stared at him with one of his signature double edged looks, filled with mild perplexed astonishment, but also something much more tender.

“Yeah, Son.”

 _(SON)_.

(The good kind of Software Instability, the best kind).

“I’m not leaving ya to wander about on your own after all that shit.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow while he desperately tried to find something genuine to say, ignoring the distant suggested dialogue prompts in his program. He needed something _better_.

Hank seemed to take his silence the wrong way however, dropping his arm and shuffling slightly backwards.

His voice was gruff with concealed hurt (the only kind the Lieutenant did, Connor had learned) as he began to back-peddle. “Right, yeah. Y-you just got you your freedom and that – ‘course you don’t have to hang around this old sack of shit anymore! An-”

“No!” Connor interrupted, nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed to close the tiny gap Hank had put between them, reaching for the Lieutenants sleeve. The bad Software Instability had flashed red across his vision, hot and _(suffocating?)_

Panic.

“No, I – Hank…” he tried, pleading with his eyes, because whilst Connor knew he had feelings, Connor was ~~unsatisfactory~~ _bad_ at finding the words to express them. He didn’t want Hank to leave.

A ripple of fabric was pinched between his fingers, and he rubbed it gently over his smooth fingertips before letting go. Hank was looking at him again, self-depreciating tirade stayed.

Connor smoothed his tie, fixing the tie pin, and lifted his chin, clasping his hands behind his back. He tried again.

“It would be-”

But no, that wasn’t right either. He didn’t need to revert to distant polite address.

Hank was still watching him, though he’d moved closer, clocking the resolute blue flash of an LED as Connor relaxed and spoke around a small but sincere smile. “I would like, very much, to go...home. W-with you.”

They were not the smooth, calm and collected words of The Negotiator, but they were Connor’s.

Hank huffed in response, but lost the stiff set of his face in favour of the fondness that laced the small shake of his head.

“Well good,” he began, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rolling back on his heels, “- ’cos some interfering android broke my window and I sure as Hell ain’t paying for a replacement!” he finished in typical Hank Anderson fashion.

When Connor just stood there, he rolled his eyes and reached up to affectionally ruffle Connor’s perfect hair (the urge to fix it registered immediately, but despite what Connor had observed to be true about himself, he feels he could leave it, just for a few more seconds).

“Come on then Robocop, before I die of hypothermia,” Hank said as he turned back towards his car, and Connor (after straightening his hair), followed as always, opening his mouth to inform the Lieutenant that _in fact-_

“Expression Connor! Don’t wanna hear it,” Hank called with a wave of his hand, but he checked over his shoulder with a chuckle.

Connor shut his mouth, and folded himself into passenger seat of Hank’s aging car, watching as the music was fiddled with and the heating turned all the way up.

Hank settled his hands on the steering wheel. “Right then, lets get you home.”  

“Understood Lieutenant.”

And Connor was a Deviant struggling to understand how he fit, how he _felt_ , but (in the passenger seat of a car that smelt of wet dog and alcohol) he knew, with absolute certainty, that he understood what home was.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, i'm aware I have a penchant to chuck everything in brackets and semi-colon the shit out of a sentence i'm so sorry. I just love the idea of Connor needing his dad to help him sort himself out what can I say he's adorable.


End file.
